


Feel the Same

by spacegayofficial



Category: Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Reader Insert, confessions of loooooove, emotional abuse from a parent, he's really just my anxiety and imposter syndrome personofied with a little bit of sexism thrown in, reader's father is an assbag, soft maxwell deserves his own warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24896521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegayofficial/pseuds/spacegayofficial
Summary: You've been Maxwell's assistant for just over a year. Several months into your tenure there, he finds out about your father's constant insults. A few months after that, he rescues you from a family dinner.
Relationships: Maxwell Lord/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	Feel the Same

Over the last year of your employment, you had become closer and closer to your boss. You’d even say you were friends. At this point, you regularly went out to dinner or for drinks after work together. You never thought this would be something that would happen, frankly; you were well aware of Maxwell Lord’s existence and who he (allegedly) was, and “friendly” was not one of the descriptors anyone would probably use to describe him. More like ruthless, and intimidating. And he was those things, at first. He did what he needed to do to succeed, to stay ahead of the competition. But once you got to know him as a person, not just a businessman? His sense of humor came out, he was genuinely nice to you, he was approachable.

You two worked together very well, and got along well, too. He told you once a few months after you started that he was accomplishing more than ever with you keeping him organized and on schedule, that you were the best assistant he’d ever had. And while part of you, at first, thought that he was just saying that, you soon realized he meant it very sincerely. He doesn’t just say things.

He’s also extremely observant. You supposed this sort of went hand in hand with being a salesman of sorts; being able to read someone to determine how well you’re doing, how likely they are to buy into what you’re selling. On one hand, this meant he knew how you liked your coffee, what drinks you usually order, what you usually have for lunch, that kind of thing. On the other, though, he was also familiar with your habits and quirks, and got a peek into your personal life. That last part? That was when he became a lot closer to you than he had been.

One day, about seven months into your tenure as Maxwell’s assistant, you came into work, coffee for yourself, Maxwell, and a handful of other coworkers in hand. Everything was normal, except you looked like you had just been crying your eyes out, because you had. You thought you’d calmed down enough, and fixed your makeup well enough no one would notice, and you thought you’d gotten away with it since no one asked about it as you handed out coffee… until you got to Maxwell’s office. You set his coffee down with a small smile, then turned to go to your desk, when he gently grabbed your wrist, stopping you from going any further, and motioned for you to sit down. He got up, and shut the door to his office, offering you two some privacy. He sat back down, and looked at you with a furrowed brow.

“Are you okay?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.

“Um, yeah,” you lied. You averted your eyes and took a shaky breath. But the events of the morning just came flooding back to you. You really did think you had calmed down enough you could get through today without crying again, at least not at work, but the waterworks started again almost as soon as your answer to Maxwell’s question left your lips. Your lip trembled slightly, and you covered your face with your hands, not wanting to look so vulnerable in front of your boss.

“No, it’s not,” he said softly, leaning slightly over his desk, his look of concern only increasing. “What happened?”

You shook your head, sucking in a breath as you tried to steady yourself enough to speak clearly. “It’s nothing. Just… family stuff, I guess,” you answered. That wasn’t a lie; it was your family, your father to be specific.

Your relationship with him had always been strained, from the day you were born. Before you really knew Maxwell, you would’ve said that he and your dad would’ve gotten along like a wildfire. Successful businessmen with high expectations and some… at first glance, anyway, shady dealings. Your dad wanted a son, but never got one. On top of being a daughter, you were your parents only child. You had to single handedly bear the brunt of your father’s frustration with that situation. You tried for a long time to live up to your father’s expectations, just to prove to him that you could, and you being a girl had nothing to do with it. You had amazing grades all through school, and got into a top college. But, sometime while you were in college, you gave up on proving yourself. You realized that you could never live up to his expectations because to him, you were fundamentally incapable simply by birth. It didn’t matter what you did, your father would still chastise you for not being good enough in one way or another. You finished your degree, and instead of a congratulations, he simply told you that a different degree would’ve been better. You got your first job after graduation, and he was unhappy with how low of a position it was. He was practically furious when he found out you’d taken a job as an  _ assistant, _ because how much lower on the ladder could you be? It didn’t matter that this was the best paying job you’d ever had. It didn’t matter that you were happy with it. It just wasn’t good enough for him.

This morning, while you were getting ready for work, he’d called to remind you just how disappointed in you he was. Of course, he didn’t see it as that; he saw it as pushing you, but you knew he meant it when he said he was disappointed in you. You knew he meant it when he said at this point it was unlikely you’d find any more success than being some assistant. You knew he meant it when he said he wished he’d had a son. Part of you even believed him.

“It’s not nothing, or you wouldn’t be so upset about it,” Maxwell insisted. “You can talk to me.”

You glanced back over at him, and saw that worried look was still on his face. You sniffled a bit, and sighed. “My… my father… called me,” you started carefully. “We… haven’t ever gotten along well. I-I… he…” You paused, trying to remain composed enough to tell Maxwell what had happened. “I’ve never been good enough for him. He wanted to remind me of that this morning, I guess,” you said, wiping your eyes again.

Maxwell pushed a box of tissues on his desk your way. You looked back at him with a smile that communicated that it was what it was, and you’d been dealing with this bullshit from your father for years. His look back at you was now a mix of that concern and confusion, and he was sort of just staring at you.

He shook his head slightly to snap out of being baffled. He knew your credentials, he knew your accomplishments, and to hear that you somehow didn’t live up to someone’s expectations, your own father’s no less, was mind boggling to him. “Listen, I don’t know what he said, or why, but I can tell you this. You’ve accomplished so much in your life. He clearly doesn’t understand that if he feels anything but pride,” Maxwell told you. “You should be proud of yourself for your accomplishments. Don’t let his poor judgement, hell, his  _ blindness _ , make you think you shouldn’t be.”

You gulped, blown away by his words. If you weren’t sure it would be a massive overstep, you’d hug him. Instead, you nodded. “You’re right. Thank you,” you said, quietly, your breathing slowly evening out. “That… means a lot.” It did. So few people in your life had told you to be proud of yourself.

“Of course,” he said. “If you need to talk about it more, I’m… I’m here. For you.” You could tell by the way he uncharacteristically stumbled over his words that this sort of closeness wasn’t something he was terribly used to, and it made you that much more grateful for it.

And truth be told, you scared the hell out of Maxwell. From the day he met you, he was absolutely captivated by you. The first thing he noticed was your smile. You had a general warmth radiating from you that drew him to you. As he got to know you, he started showing you parts of himself that he hadn’t shown anyone in years. He quickly found himself referring to you as not just his assistant, but his friend, and a close one at that. It was new territory for him, or at least territory he was no longer familiar with. He’d closed himself off from this kind of thing for the benefit of his career, and while he didn’t necessarily regret it, he could admit the respite from those walls you provided him was something he quite liked. As for why you scared him, though? You scared him because you were making him feel things he’s never felt before. The day you came in, eyes puffy from crying after your father had called you, two new feelings were added to the list; he wanted nothing more than to protect you from whatever had hurt you. He wanted to wrap you in his arms and keep you safe. He never wanted to see you upset like that ever again. The second feeling settled in his chest and made his heart beat faster and gave him butterflies. That was the first time that the thought crossed his mind.

Maxwell loved you.

But he couldn’t tell you that. There was no way you felt the same way. You were friends. He could love you as a friend, right? Right. That was fine. That was enough. It would have to be.

From that point on, Maxwell made it clear to you that you could always talk to him about whatever was bothering you. It didn’t matter if it was work related or not, he would listen, and it would stay between you two. That’s also when he started acting a little different. Not in a bad way, and you supposed it could just be another facet of himself that he doesn’t let people see very often, but it was still different. He started treating you to drinks and dinner more frequently, and buying you small gifts. You appreciated them greatly; they were always things that made him think of you, and you found through this he knew you pretty well. On top of that, he started opening up to you more, talking about his own personal life, which you found was fairly limited, but you got the impression he didn’t want it to be. He was very busy with work all the time, and barely had time to go and relax and enjoy himself doing something he wanted to do. It seemed your outings for dinner and drinks were about the only times he got to let go for a while.

You fell for him fast. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t had a crush on him for a while, but that’s all it was, and all you’d let it be; a crush. But then he started caring about you, and you about him, and it became more than that. But you couldn’t tell him that you loved him. There was no way he felt the same way. You were friends. You could love him as a friend, right? Right. That was fine. That was enough. It would have to be.

But neither of you could keep those feelings hidden forever, which brought you to the present.

Your parents had invited you over for dinner, and you couldn’t very well say no. You had no other plans, and honestly, it had been a while, and you were running out of excuses as to why you couldn’t take the short subway trip uptown to see them. You would just eat, help your mom clean up, then go back home. You could survive this. But oh, how wrong you were. Your father was relentless, bringing up things that had happened years ago while you were in school that might have had an effect on your long term success. He questioned your choice in major in college, and dug into you for staying at your “disappointing” job as Maxwell’s assistant.

“You’re not even trying to climb the ladder there,” he said. “You’ve been there, what, a year now? You should’ve been promoted by now, or at least asking for it.”

“I’m perfectly happy in this position,” you responded, idly picking at the food on your plate. This conversation had already ruined your appetite. “I make more than enough money, and I enjoy it.”

“Sure, sure, but topping out as an assistant? That’s just throwing your career away,” he continued. “Waste of money, putting you through college. A son would’ve been an executive by now.”

That got to you for some reason. It was likely just the straw that broke the camel’s back, honestly, because he was laying into you all evening. But, before you could get emotional, you excused yourself from the table, and went to your childhood room, closing the door behind you. You burst into tears then, but tried to keep it quiet so your parents wouldn’t try to check on you immediately. You just needed some time to process what your father had said, refute it all, and calm down. You sat on the edge of your bed, and glanced at the phone that resided on your bedside table. Maxwell would let you talk to him, and he’d help. You’d called him before for things like this. It felt… different, though, calling him from your parents’ house knowing that you’d told Maxwell so many of the hateful things your father had said to you over the time you’d known him. You took a deep breath, though, and dialed his number. The phone rang a few times.

“Hello?” Maxwell’s voice came on the other line. It was his home number, so he didn’t answer the same way he did at work; it was still kind of odd to hear.

“H-hey, Maxwell, it’s me,” you said quietly, sniffling.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone immediately concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you assured him. “Well. My parents invited me over for dinner.”

“Oh, god,” he said, his exasperated tone making you flinch even though you knew it was directed at your father, not you. “I’m sorry. How’d it go?”

“I-I…” you took another deep, shaky breath. “I’m still here. It’s just… been rough.”

There was a pause. “ **Stay there. I’m coming to get you,** ” Maxwell said. “What’s the address?”

“What? That’s not necessary, I can get home--”

He said your name firmly, but gently. It reminded you of the time he’d grabbed your wrist the first time he found out about all of this. “What’s the address?”

You relented, giving it to him. “Thank you. Again. For everything,” you said. You had to fight the urge to put all of your feelings on the table right then and there. “You have no idea how much it means to me.”

“Well, don’t thank me quite yet. I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he said, then hung up.

You weren’t sure exactly what he meant by that, and it did concern you a little bit. Still, though, you trusted him. You weren’t sure you would ever be able to thank him enough for everything he’d done for you. He’d done so much, been a shoulder to cry on countless times and you knew that wasn’t something that was easy for him, especially at first. You knew you had managed to tear down some pretty thick walls around him to get to this point.

About twenty minutes went by, and you heard a knock at the front door. For some reason this made the hair on the back of your neck prickle, sensing some tension that had arrived with your escape vehicle. You quickly stood and left your room, rushing down the stairs and gathering your things. Your parents looked at you in confusion. They were just wrapping up dinner and dessert was still to come.

“Where do you think you’re going?” your father asked, annoyance clear in his voice.

“I’m going home,” you said, as firmly as you could manage with how worked up you were just a few minutes ago. You slipped your shoes back on and swung the door open. You were expecting to see Maxwell’s driver, who usually ushered you to the car if he picked you up.

You were very surprised to see Maxwell himself standing on the doorstep to your parents’ house.

You stared at him, mouth agape, wide eyed as he smiled back at you in that calming, kind manner that you were familiar with in times like this, but something else was also in his eyes that you couldn’t put your finger on.

“It would be rude for me to stop by without saying hello, wouldn’t it?” Maxwell said in a hushed tone, looking over your shoulder and taking a small step towards entering the house.

“Maxwell,” you said quietly, almost warning, silently pleading with him to not make a scene.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you, gently putting a hand on your upper arm, squeezing lightly.

You gave him one last warning look before you stepped aside, leading him into the house.

Your father looked up from the dinner table and, upon seeing your boss, went about as white as a sheet. You’d have to live under a rock, especially in this city, not to know who Maxwell Lord was. And here he was, standing in the dining room. Your father knew, conceptually, that he’s who you worked for, and he definitely understood he was the most successful businessman in the country, if not the world, at the moment. That didn’t matter to him, though, regarding his disappointment in you.

“Mom, dad, this is my boss, Maxwell Lord,” you said gingerly, standing somewhat awkwardly next to him. You were on the verge of tears again for some reason, sure you would somehow manage to disappoint your father again. You tried not to care about it, but it was harder when he was in the same room as you.

Your father shot up from his seat so fast the dinnerware on the table clattered, and was over shaking Maxwell’s hand in the blink of an eye.

“It’s such an honor to have you in our home, Mr. Lord,” he said frantically, smiling like he’d just won the lottery. “Your business has done so much for the city, I really am impressed.” Of course he was impressed by Maxwell, a man he’d never met, and not you. “I’m sure having my daughter as your assistant has been a bit of a challenge but I trust she’s living up to your expectations.”

Maxwell not-so-subtly yanked his hand back from your father’s grasp. “Do you hear yourself?” he asked.

Oh boy, here we go.

“I beg your pardon?” your father asked, genuinely clueless as to what Maxwell meant.

“I knew you unfairly looked down upon your daughter’s accomplishments, but I had no idea you’d be bold enough to insult her to my face,” Maxwell responded, furrowing his brow at him. “A challenge? I don’t hire people who are going to be a challenge to work with. In fact, she is hands down the best assistant I’ve ever had. My productivity and efficiency has never been higher directly because of her talent, and that’s translated into a steady increase of the company’s overall value.”

Your father’s smile dropped slowly as he spoke. Hearing from one of the most powerful businessmen in the world that your daughter is actually talented and good at what she does despite being convinced of the opposite her whole life had to be sending his head spinning.

“You should be proud of her,” Maxwell stated. “But I get the feeling even having me tell you that won’t convince you. If you don’t stop calling her and harassing her with these bullshit insults, I have no issue using my entire legal team to assist her in suing you for emotional distress.”

Your father looked horrified. Maxwell smiled the same smile he gives difficult clients when he gets his way.

“Let’s go,” Maxwell said, turning and starting to walk towards the front door. You followed, giving your father a defiant look, accompanied with a small, surprised smile. If that didn’t get him off your back, you didn’t know what else would. “Oh, and one more thing,” Maxwell continued, adjusting his sleeves and straightening his shoulders. “Don’t think I don’t recognize your last name. If being sued isn’t threat enough, know that I’m well aware of and have evidence to connect you to that little tax fraud debacle from a few years back. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.” Oh shit.  _ You _ knew what he was talking about, but only because you’d accidentally overheard a conversation your father had on the phone years ago regarding the issue. You were sure no one else knew about it.

Your father started to sputter a response, but Maxwell held up a hand.

“Just be aware that if this continues, I will ensure you come to regret every negative word you’ve said to her,” he said. “Have a great evening.”

And with that, he opened the front door, ushered you out before stepping outside himself, and shut the door behind the both of you. You walked several steps down the sidewalk leading up to your parents doorstep, before you turned around to face him. You smiled, happy tears welling in your eyes. You’d never had the guts to stand up to your father, and you were grateful Maxwell had stepped in to help.

“Thank you,” you said, and you laughed a little bit between tears. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that dumbstruck before.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, approaching you and walking you the rest of the way to the car. “It felt like the right thing to do.”

“How’d you know about that tax fraud thing?” you asked.

“We actually acquired that company shortly after your father left,” he said. “They were sloppy cleaning up their records, there was enough to piece together what had happened and that your father was involved.”

“You took the time to dig through ten year old records to find dirt on my father… for me?” you asked incredulously. “How did I not know about this?”

Maxwell laughed a little. “Well, I had help, but it was quite a side project,” he admitted. “Took a couple months. Just so happened this was the perfect moment to put my cards on the table.” He paused outside of the car and looked at you, a new sort of deeply caring look on his face. “You know you deserve it, right? To not have someone insult you on a regular basis? To have someone be proud of you?” he asked.

You sighed, looking away. “I mean, logically, yes, I suppose,” you said. “It’s just… you grow up with it as the norm, told over and over again you’ll never be good enough, and it becomes very hard to believe.”

Maxwell opened the door for you, and you slid in and sat. He got in on the other side, and the driver began pulling away from the hell that was your parents’ house.

“You do,” he finally said, looking over at you. “I’m proud of you.”

You gave him a look of mild confusion. “You… are?” you asked.

“I absolutely am,” he answered. “I know it’s not the same, coming from a… a friend, but you deserve to know it regardless.”

You were quiet for another moment. You aren’t entirely sure you’d ever heard those words spoken to you. “Thank you,” you said again. Without thinking, you reached over and put your hand on his, then froze. But he kept looking at you, and didn’t pull away. You let your hand relax again, and smiled softly.

“It looked to me like you left in the middle of dinner,” he observed. “What do you say we go to my place and eat and have some drinks?”

You smiled a little wider. “That sounds nice.”

* * *

“And then absolutely seriously, she looked over at her VP, then back at me and asked, ‘We sell what?’” Maxwell continued his story, about a new CEO of a company they regularly sold components to. He was smiling, laughing, like he always was after you’d both loosened up after a few drinks, but there was something… different about this evening.

You gasped. “She did not!” you responded, bursting into laughter. “How do you not know what your own company sells?”

“To be entirely fair it was a pretty small part of their product line, but still,” he responded. “And that isn’t something you just gloss over on a page, either.”

“Certainly not! That’d stand out in a list to anyone,” you agreed.

You were sitting on a bar stool next to the counter in Maxwell’s kitchen, and he was leaning against it across from you. He was rather good at making cocktails, a talent you never would’ve guessed he had, but you were impressed the first time he’d invited you over for this. From the living room, you could hear music from the record player he’d turned on when you arrived.

“Anyway, after a very awkward explanation from her VP, she seemed to understand what was happening, and the rest of the meeting went off without a hitch,” he finished. “Our contract with them is still good, and last time we revisited it she was still CEO.”

“Well, good for her, I hope that mortifying moment was a learning experience for her,” you giggled, taking another sip of your drink.

You liked seeing Maxwell like this. Relaxed, no suit jacket, shirt sleeves rolled up. It was further proof to you that you’d wiggled your way through his walls, that you were seeing who he really was. It reminded you of just how much you loved him, which in turn hurt a bit knowing you couldn’t tell him that.

“I wanted to thank you, again, for rescuing me,” you said, smiling at him. “You didn’t have to do that, but it means a lot.”

“Of course,” he responded. “I… honestly couldn’t stand the thought of you being there and putting up with that any longer than you had to.”

“It was rough. Last thing he said to me before I excused myself was that he thought it was a waste of money to put me through college, even though I got a ton of scholarships and we weren’t ever in debt, and that his hypothetical son would already be an executive,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I know what you do on a daily basis, I don’t think I’d want to be an executive given the option.”

Maxwell laughed a little. “I don’t know. You’d be very good at it,” he said. “I mean, you already are. Sometimes you do my job for me without even knowing it.”

You scoffed. “Well, sure, but I’m your assistant, that’s part of it,” you said, shrugging. “Being a figurehead and having to sell my company like that would be exhausting. I like being behind the scenes.” The record player transitioned into the next song, and you gasped quietly. It was one of your favorites, one you’d always imagined dancing with some attractive partner to with; of course, most recently, that imaginary partner was Maxwell. It was fairly slow, but upbeat enough you could describe it as happy. You closed your eyes and swayed a little bit to the music, smiling as you listened. “I love this song.”

You opened your eyes again, and Maxwell had made his way around the counter to stand in front of you, holding his hand out.

“Care for a dance?” he asked, smiling softly. His normal impenetrable confidence was wavering slightly, and if you didn’t know him as well as you did you wouldn’t have picked up on the fact he was a bit nervous.

You blushed a bit, hesitating before you took his hand. Friends dance, right? That’s a thing that happens. Nevermind your fantasies of doing this exact thing with this exact man. “I-I’d love to,” you answered. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as he helped you out of your seat and grabbed your waist with his free hand, keeping your hand firmly in his other. You hesitated for another brief second before you placed your free hand on his chest, and you two began swaying to the music together.

“As I was saying,” Maxwell continued, “you’d be a natural at it. You’re charming and beautiful and easy to get along with, it’d be second nature to you in no time.”

You smiled, but shook your head and rolled your eyes. “You have to say that, you’re like, my best friend,” you countered. Keeping it at best friend made something ache in your chest.

Maxwell released your waist for a moment to gently tilt your chin up to make you look at him. More butterflies. “I mean it,” he said, that same look in his eyes from when he walked you to the car. “You’re capable of more than you know. You really could do anything.”

You smiled a bit, averting your eyes, unsure how to respond to such a strong compliment. “If you say so,” you finally relented.

Maxwell let go of your chin, and brushed a strand of hair that had fallen into your face back, tucking it behind your ear. “I do say so,” he said. And for the first time in a very, very long time, you believed him. You smiled and laughed softly. It made Maxwell’s heart clench, and he wanted so badly to tell you everything. His hand fell back to your waist. You looked up into his eyes, and something there was calming, almost reassuring enough to give you a small boost of confidence. He saw the same thing in yours. You both spoke at the exact same time.

“I need to tell you something,” you said.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Maxwell started.

You both laughed a little, and his laugh traveled through your hand on his chest and up your arm, and you felt closer than you ever have been.

“You go ahead,” you said, smiling back at him.

“No, no, I insist,” he responded, nodding a bit to yield his turn to you.

You sighed, trying to focus on the music and the motion of you two swaying to it, but it wasn’t helping. “Why don’t we say it at the same time?” you suggested.

Maxwell smiled at you in a way you hadn’t seen before. You were so damn adorable. Everything you did just made him fall a little more for you. “Sure, why not,” he agreed.

“On three, then,” you said, taking a deep breath. “One, two, three.”

“I love--” you both stopped everything as you realized you were saying the same thing to each other. “You.”

You both erupted into laughter, and you threw your arms around him, hugging him close. His arms held you around your waist, his hands splayed comfortingly at your back.

“And here I was afraid you didn’t feel the same way,” you said, pulling away slightly to take his face in your hands.

“That makes two of us,” he admitted, making a slightly apologetic face.

There was a pause where both of you just took a moment to process what had just happened. That your feelings were reciprocated, and very much real. Never again would you have to imagine dancing with Maxwell; you could do it whenever the song came on. After a moment, Maxwell’s eyes flicked from yours down to your lips, then back again. He smiled, almost giddy that this had all worked out. And, perhaps as childish as it was, he could finally ask you something he’s been wanting to ask for months.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his smile only widening as he spoke.

“I thought you’d never ask,” you responded, leaning in towards him.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and he closed the gap. Months of pent up feelings erupted, and the kiss was… intense. So many unsaid words and missed kisses and held back touches were wrapped up in this one kiss, it was almost overwhelming. He tasted like the old fashioned he’d been drinking, and you swore even this late into the evening you could still smell his aftershave as your nose pressed into his cheek. When you finally pulled away, you were completely breathless, but satisfied, and yet hungry for more. You opened your eyes and looked at him, and he looked about as dazed by what just happened as you were. You both laughed again, resting your foreheads together.

“Forgive me if this is too forward, but, would you like to stay tonight?” Maxwell asked.

You laughed quietly. “Maxwell, you just confessed your love for me, I don’t think that’s too forward,” you told him, leaning back in for another, brief kiss. “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come hang out and say hi over at spacegayofficial on tumblr!!!


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